While
noodling around in a bunch of old files I came across this exchange of
members of a photo club I modeled for when I was in high school after I
came back to the states. I've mentioned before that I posed for both
artists and photographers but I totally forgot that for some reason I
saved this exchange. Reading it, I can't remember what it was all
about but Stefanie sure was upset about something. Just laugh about it
now. I'd completely forgotten about all of those people until I found
this. Funny how memories are stored but not available to you until
something prompts the recall.
But once those days were brought to mind a flood of other memories of those days rushed in on me. I was having so much fun discovering America after so many years overseas. Yes, there were bad things that happened, as I've written, and I missed my old high school and my old friends, but it was wonderful emerging into adulthood in that time and place. My mind lingers.... 
Can I still fit into the outfits I wore
for those photo shoots -- or didn't wear! -- today? Almost. No,
really. My hips have spread a bit, thanks to childbirth but my waist has
not spread equally so my waist:hip ratio is a bit better. My boobs are
bigger. I work out regularly so I am more muscular, with stronger
thighs and more defined calves. My arms are more toned and have some
muscle mass, that sort of thing. A lot of women get pudgy as they get older, but I have become more toned. Someone once told me that I have ice
skater legs. My boobs aren't saggy, either. I think that's genetic. My mother still has a great set of headlights.
The other day some teenage boys I walked by called me a MILF they'd like to snack on. I had to consider whether that was a compliment or not. I decided it was. And I thought about going back and passing by them again, stopping and bending over in front of them pretending to adjust something, giving them a nice view. But I didn't. What if my back went out on me when I bent over? Haha.
One time when I was a teen, my dad was rummaging through junk in the
garage and I was hanging out with him yakking away while he pretended to listen, he came across a pile of oil paintings in the middle of which I had
tucked away a nude painting of me that the artist had gifted me. When
he saw it, he pulled it out, puzzled, then said, "Good Lord, is this you
squirt?" I said, "Uh...maybe...." He studied it for a minute, said, "Well, it doesn't do the subject justice." Then he put it back and
never said another word about it. I was sure he was going to tell my
mother and certain death would follow. But he didn't, as far as I know,
because nothing ever came of it.
What's that? Hadn't I told my parents I was -- coughnudecough -- modeling? Are you kidding? Of course not. Dad might have said okay but my mother would have put her foot down most firmly. I knew that, and questions you know the answer to you don't have to ask. Right?
Yeah, I have been reminiscing a lot about my past lately, rummaging through junk from my childhood and teenage years. Kind of an escape from the now, I guess. It ain't been a good year so far.
Anyway, here's the scrap of instant messaging from the great before.
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| Wanda by Jimmy. |
